The scent of lilies filled the air—too sweet, too real.
When Won Young opened her eyes, she wasn't in her penthouse bedroom surrounded by designer furniture and city lights.
The sheets beneath her were coarse linen. Her body ached, and the sound of clinking silver trays and distant chatter drifted from behind a wooden door.
She sat up abruptly. The mirror on the dresser reflected a stranger's face.
A girl with long black hair and luminous blue eyes stared back at her—eyes like polished sapphire, trembling with disbelief. Her once-delicate hands, manicured and smooth, were now calloused, faintly red from scrubbing.
"What… what is this?"
Her reflection didn't answer. Only the echo of her own ragged breath filled the small room.
The uniform hanging on the chair—a simple gray dress with a white apron—told her everything she needed to know.
A maid's outfit.
A knock on the door snapped her from her daze.
"Elaine! Are you still half-asleep? The Lady will have your head if breakfast isn't ready in ten minutes!"
The voice was shrill, irritated, familiar in a way that made her skin crawl.
Elaine.
The name struck her like lightning.
Her mind swirled—pages flipping, names echoing.
Celestine. The Marquis. The Saintess. The Crown Prince.
A tragic romance novel she'd read and cried over countless times: "Saintess of Light."
And Elaine—
The maid who died protecting the heroine in the final battle.
A side character who never even had a full paragraph to her name.
Won Young—no, Elaine—gripped her head, trembling.
"No, no, no. Don't tell me I reincarnated into that story!"
Her heart pounded as fragments of memory, both hers and Elaine's, tangled together.
She could feel the weight of exhaustion from scrubbing floors, the sting of cruel words from the higher servants, the quiet kindness of Lady Celestine.
And she could remember—too clearly—how Elaine's story ended:
trapped beneath rubble, burned by divine fire meant for the villain.
"I died once already. I'm not doing it again."
Her voice shook, but resolve flickered in her eyes.
In her old life, she'd been the daughter of one of Korea's wealthiest families—always expected to obey, to smile, to inherit the empire.
Now, she was a nameless maid fated to die for someone else's story.
Not this time.
By the time she arrived at the dining hall, the bustle of morning had already begun. Servants rushed back and forth, polishing silver and arranging flowers.
"Finally decided to show up," a senior maid sneered.
Elaine bowed slightly, forcing a polite smile. "I overslept. It won't happen again."
It was strange, hearing her own voice—soft, measured, humble. She'd never spoken like that before.
Her gaze shifted to the head of the table where Lady Celestine sat, nibbling on a piece of toast. The young noblewoman's brown curls shimmered under the morning light, her golden eyes filled with warmth as she chatted with her adoptive father, the Marquis.
Celestine turned and caught Elaine's gaze.
"Oh, Elaine! Thank you for the flowers yesterday. They brightened my room."
Her smile was so pure it almost hurt.
Elaine bowed again, murmuring, "I'm glad, my lady."
How could someone so kind be tied to so much tragedy?
And how was she supposed to survive in a story where everyone's fate was already written?
***********************************************
Later that evening, Elaine sneaked into the library after finishing her chores.
She needed to confirm the timeline. If her memory was right, the Crown Prince would visit the estate within the week—to see the girl who would soon be declared the Saintess.
That visit was when everything began.
Elaine traced her fingers over the spines of the books, whispering under her breath,
"If I can change just one thing… maybe I can change everything."
The candlelight flickered, and her reflection shimmered faintly in the window glass.
Outside, the moon hung low and pale, like an unblinking eye.
Somewhere beyond the forest's edge, far from the gilded mansion, shadows moved—watching, waiting.
And in that darkness, a man with white hair and eyes the color of deep ocean murmured to no one:
"A strange thread of fate has entered my domain."
The candle's flame went out.